


B-roll

by literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blind Character, Disabled Character, Everybody Lives, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Freeform, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multiplicity/Plurality, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 6,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3908161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte/pseuds/literaryFRIVOLOUSneophyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i tried to write small chapters every day in an almost entirely unplanned fanfic that lasted as long as i could keep it up. i just wanted to write about people like me surviving and since i was really into marble hornets i picked those characters to write about. no big plot or anything. so yeah thats what you can expect out of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5/9/2015

The hot water scalds Tim's skin when he turns the faucet as far left as it can go, but he scrubs at the blood stain on the plate until his skin tingles and the plate sparkles, reflecting his haggard face on its perfectly clean, non-suspicious surface. He goes to wipe his running nose before he remembers to wash off the soap suds. As he shoves his hands back under the spray, he hears a car pulling into the driveway, the dying engine loudly announcing their presence.

"Door's unlocked!" he shouts when they knock. He glances at the clock on the oven. They said they would be here at 4:00, but he didn't realize they meant _exactly_ 4:00. He turns away from the sink and dries his hand on the towel he didn't use to mop up the blood.

Amy and Alex push their way into the house, and the walls shake when they slam the door behind them. They reek of car exhaust; Alex smells mostly like tobacco. Amy, with heart-shaped sunglasses taking up most of her face, rushes into the kitchen to meet him. The sunglasses are for show, but Rocky, tongue lolling out of his mouth, bounces ahead of her. He knows his way around the cramped house, and he strains against his harness when he sees Tim. Rocky barks and Amy smiles. Tim feels a little better around them, but Alex, shrugging off his jacket onto the floor, is right behind her.

Tim bends down to scratch Rocky behind the ears, and his tail lumps against the floor.

"What a big baby," he coos. The tail wags faster. "I have some bacon leftover from breakfast." His ears perk up. "You want some?"

"No, no human food for the big baby," Amy giggles. "He'll get sick in the car."

Rocky whines, as if he knows he's not going to get a treat this time. Tim pats his head and apologizes. "Too bad, no bacon for you."

Jay keeps a box of dog treats for strays on top of the fridge, so Tim stands up to get some for Rocky. Alex stands awkwardly by the sink, shoulders stiff, poised to run away, and Tim gestures towards the fridge.

"Beer's in there," he says, but Alex shakes his head. Tim can see the muscles flexing in his face as he chews, and he can't say anything about this new habit that Alex has picked up, considering he still smokes a pack per day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not blind, so if i make any mistakes with how amy goes about her life, please correct me. she is disabled because....why not.


	2. 5/10/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for self harm.

"You relapsed?" Jay says quietly, his voice close to Tim's ear. The morning breeze trembles on its way through their open bedroom window, ghosting over their messy floor. Piles of clothes and stacks of dishes are thrown wherever and cleaned up whenever. The light of Jay's laptop, sitting on a cast-aside pillow at the end of the bed where their feet don't reach, gives their faces a dull blue glow.

The room smells like expired food and sweat. It smells like home, like someone there for you when you need it most, to remind you that you're real and wanted and deserving. Tim catches himself staring at Jay's lips, dry and cracked but parted slightly. His love sits like a small and tender animal caught in his throat, and he swallows around it, feels it throb in his stomach. He reaches out and strokes Jay's arm. His skin is warm and soft, and he smells strikingly clean. Soap and shampoo and blankets Jay finally found the energy to wash. He's wearing one of Tim's flannels pulled from the laundry basket they live out of, and it makes Jay smell a little bit like Tim's aftershave.

"I was - " He buries his face in the crook of Jay's neck. It isn't the most comfortable place in the world, since Jay is mostly skin and bones, but Jay breathes out, gentle and reassuring. He can feel Jay's heartbeat through his skin, and it makes the throb in his stomach intensify. "I got a nosebleed, and it made me feel...distant, all I could do was watch the blood drip onto the plate. I got up sometime to throw out my food, and then my nose wasn't bleeding anymore. So I cut myself." Tim flinches at the words, but Jay watches him and gives him time to continue, if he wants. "Didn't even think about it. It scared me, later, when I was cleaning up. My nose stopped bleeding, so I thought I had to keep it up. Or it wouldn't feel right."

The fan of Jay's laptop makes a whirring sound that causes Tim to jump, and Jay makes a wordless noise and cuddles up closer to him.

"It's okay." Jay kisses his shoulder. "It's alright, it's okay, it's okay."

"I wouldn't feel right," Tim finishes, in almost a whisper.


	3. 5/11/2015

In the afternoon, when the fireflies wake up and the cicadas start to hiss and wail, Tim likes to sit on the back porch and watch the sky swell into a dark purple bruise. The cup of sweet iced tea in his hand is cold, and he drinks it slowly, swishing it around in his mouth before swallowing.

Alex leans against the porch rail and looks out at the train tracks almost smack dab in their backyard. The ground, inches away from the porch, slopes downward into a dried up creek infested with weeds, and then rises up sharply to meet the tracks. The terrain is wild and crooked, as if a child imagined it up, but with the train and highway so close by, Tim and Jay managed to buy the house together at a relatively cheap price.

“How long are you and Amy gonna stay here?” Tim asks bluntly.

Alex shrugs, his eyes lost in the gentle sway of the trees. They make him nervous, and Tim doesn't blame him – the branches scratching the sky like long, long arms remind him, too, of ugly years he can't forget about.

But Tim sure blames him for a lot of other crap. He takes another sip of his tea and watches the way the muscles of Alex's shoulders tense up under his shirt whenever Tim moves even slightly. There's something – wolfish, about Alex, something like a dog trying to pull his way back to the present.

In small ways, they try to survive, try to trust each other. Forgiveness is harder to come by.

Alex spits his chew on the ground and finally replies, “Until we can get back on our feet.”


	4. 5/12/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im tired.

"I don't want to go to work today," Jay mumbles next to him in bed, blankets pulled over his head.

Tim wants to tell him, "Then don't," but Jay has already called in sick twice this week and they can't afford either of them losing their job. So he kisses Jay on his forehead and says, "Neither do I."

Jay lets out a quiet breath, and the gray, pre-rush hour air is cold enough that Tim can see it form a cloud around his timid face. Their hands find each other, and Jay is shaking, not from the temperature.

Tim hasn't bothered to put on his binder yet, but he doesn't feel self-conscious when his bare chest is squished against Jay's scarred chest. Two old lines cross under his nipples, which, even though Jay doesn't have much feeling there anymore, Tim sleepily thinks of putting in his mouth.

Jay's anxiety chews him up from the inside out. Spits out his brain before he's fully awake. "Tell me I can do it, please."

"You can do it." Tim leaves a small kiss on his nose, brushes his lips over his cheeks. Lets his mouth linger on Jay's throat. "I believe in you because I love you, and you can do this and so much more -"

Jay giggles, and Tim can feel his laughter quivering against his lips. "You're fucking gay."

"Wow, you got me there."


	5. 5/13/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in my experience, it isnt good for you or them to deny the people youre sharing a brain with.

cooperation.

he realizes it doesn't have to be so hard or painful. it becomes easier, when he doesn't treat Them like his enemy, when he doesn't try to purge Them from their shared body. the ocean is made of sugar, and psychiatrists tell him he should integrate. for his health, the water-heavy doctors say. the ocean is soft as fleece and with a turn of his wrist, he feels his saltwater bones angle in the right direction. maybe not right, in his therapist's opinion, but him, and Them - oh, brotherhood, in a manner of speaking.

to be spared! he does not have to bear the weight of life alone. cut the same split ends, and the ocean is a dark beautiful blackness. divine, divine, divine! burning slow and thick, the tide slapping the roof of his mouth - he is white fire, and they are muddy water, and the ocean drinks his tongue and then his hands, his eyes, his skin. they dragged him into the sea because he didn't let them talk. _brother, let me know when you need to breathe._

tim clears his throat, and They spare him.


	6. 5/14/2015

Jessica rubs her eyes and squints at her alarm clock.

Fuck, she needs to sleep, she needs to call Tim and Jay and see how they're doing with Alex and Amy around, she needs to call her doctor, she needs to take her shot of estrogen before she forgets and unbalanced hormones are the last thing she can handle right now, she needs to shower and vacuum because the list of shit that needs to get done only gets longer and larger and as it grows, so does her anxiety, and then she's too upset to do anything -

She's so exhausted that her bones feel like glass. She turns away from her alarm clock and hopes she doesn't break.


	7. 5/15/2015

"I think it's...beautiful, you know?" Tim sounds exhausted but not distraught. He grumbles something Jessica can't catch and then makes an amused sound, not quite a laugh and not quite anything else definable. It is simply a Tim Noise that, inside her, makes the world a little better every time it is heard. The Noise makes her miss talking to him in real life and not just on the phone.

Tim keeps mumbling, "I love being trans. And I love other trans people. I think trans people, caring about each other? Taking care of, and supporting, and being - friends, gender friends, who give you comfort and safety, and love each other? That's the most beautiful thing in the world."

"Are you calling me beautiful?" She makes a tired but happy Jessica Noise.

"Of course I am," he says instantly. He yawns, and she can hear blankets rustling. "Oh, crap, I think I woke up Jay."

From Tim's side, she picks out a faint, "Move over, I need to piss," and a giggle.


	8. 5/16/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> very small mentions of suicide and vomit.

Split lip. Bloody knuckles. A bruise turning a nasty color under his right eye.

"You need to take care of yourself," Tim reprimands Alex as soon as he steps through the door. He jumps up from the couch like a father waiting for his kid to come home past curfew. "What the hell did you do? Get in a fight? What do you think -"

"It's none of your goddamn business!" Alex spits out. His mouth tastes like copper, and he's glad for it. "I _am_ taking care of myself. Just 'cause I'm not doing it in a way that makes you happy, doesn't mean I'm not taking care of myself."

Tim's face changes for a split second, and Alex braces for it. His mind blanks, and he squares his shoulders. He can take a punch. He can take being called slurs. He can handle having his ribs kicked in until he throws up. Some rational part of him knows Tim isn't going to hit him, but he still goes into a defensive stance.

Tim doesn't even raise his fist. He chews the inside of his cheek and makes sure he doesn't move too quickly when he leans back onto the couch. "Is Amy worried?" he asks. The tone isn't one Alex is used to hearing from Tim, so he defaults to _he hates me, he thinks I'm sick and nasty, he's gonna kick me out of the house, he has to make sure Amy won't be pissed if he calls the cops on me -_

"She lets me do what I want because I'm a fucking adult," Alex snarls.

"If she isn't worried, then I won't worry. I know you're not a bad person, okay?" Alex's eyes bulge, and it would be funny if Tim didn't feel so sorry for him. He doesn't remember when he started feeling sympathy for the guy who once told him he needed to kill himself and then burned down his house. "Just...don't get killed, please? And if you, if you need..." He trails off. He can't exactly promise he can be there if Alex needs to talk. It sounds too clinical, too much like a doctor. And there's too many sharp, jagged edges between them, inside them.

In the end, it doesn't matter what Tim wants to promise Alex. Alex pushes past him and stomps away, locking himself in the guest room he and Amy are staying in until the day is over.

_When Alex took the tapes out into the woods to burn them, he was alone. Not completely alone, not with the thing always hovering at the treeline, but he was alone. He breathes in the loneliness. He can be alone. He can understand that, not the sympathy or the support or any of that bullshit, because it must be bullshit, must be temporary, terminal. He can be alone; he needs to be alone._


	9. 5/17/2015

Some of the mouths are bleeding from swallowing their own tongues. Tim can taste them suffering.

He licks his lips, and Amy sits down on the porch swing, listening to the insects screeching and the breeze sidestepping the cars on the highway. He leaves the back door open and Amy breathes sharply. Because she is alive, so alive it almost hurts, her chest expanding with oxygen and her hands shaking from the blood coursing through them. Amy forgets, sometimes, that she is alive. Rocky barks and bumps into her leg, and she pats his head tiredly. He curls up by the swing and watches her with his soft canine eyes, like Alex. She can feel the eyes on her, the breathing down her neck, the hand (maw) twitching and wanting to reach out to her. She tilts her head and listens to Tim lumbering back into the house. His feet come down hard on the wood floors.

Jay stays in the bathtub for hours and hours. He stares at the wall and waits for God to come out of the crack in the plaster. Tim licks his lips, and he asks to join. Jay makes a vague sound and some room for Tim to slide in. When their bodies touch, the water turns to blood. They are made of meat. They are used to it. Sometimes they both feel divine, but Jay is the prophet and Tim is the Lord. It's the sacred truth, bound to their flesh, and maybe it's what keeps away the It, the Thing, the Devil. Maybe there is no relation. They are used to no conclusions.

The dirt is a womb for plants and blood is a train for water to travel through. The next stop is in ten minutes.

Amy stays outside for hours and hours.


	10. 5/18/2015

The pain killers go down with little resistance, and Tim puts down the glass of water to rub his eyes. He punches a few numbers into the calculator and swears under his breath. He taps his fingers on the table, and his eyes dart around the room, looking at the almost empty bottle of pain killers, the papers scattered over the table, and Rocky sitting lonesomely in the corner. He whistles at the dog, but Rocky whines and scoots into the corner. The kitchen at nighttime bothers him; he doesn't like the way the fridge stands like a menacing figure or the way footsteps sound from nowhere. Rocky remembers the Thing under the streetlight, watching, observing.

Tim and Jay might not have enough for rent this month. Usually Tim works overtime, but his brain has been kicking his ass and he would never expect Jay to work more than part-time. He can barely shuffle into work when he can only form run-on sentences about how God talks to him. His paycheck keeps them afloat, but buying this house took a lot out of their savings. However, they needed a place they could settle in, somewhere they could crash after a long day, somewhere that smelled like them, made them feel stable.

His stomach turns at the thought of asking Amy and Alex for some help. They're more than just struggling to make ends meet. They lost their apartment because the landlord found some way to kick them out, some legal loophole about Rocky he could sneak past without having to actually say, "I'm kicking you out because you are disabled and it makes my tenants uncomfortable."


	11. 5/20/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crashed when i got home from school, woke up after midnight so i didnt get a chapter out yesterday, oops.
> 
> warnings for internalized fat shaming and negative body image. (my fat ass projects onto any characters i can) (my fat ass cackles and sins)

The pants don't fit over his hips. Tim struggles to pull them up by the belt, and he feels his face burning when he has to suck in his stomach to button it up. He turns to look at the full body mirror, and he feels tears pricking at his eyes. The denim is pulled tight over his thighs, but these were the largest size available. Shame wells up in his throat, closing up like a bear trap, and he tries not to cry. Because he is _not_ going to fucking cry in a dressing room with his boyfriend just a wall away.

It's one of the better days. Jay got to work on time and didn't even text Tim during his break _"just kill me now thanks lmao."_ He realized he had been wearing the same sweater for two weeks straight and he deserved to treat himself to something new. The Goodwill smells slightly off, like a quiet fungal infection in the walls, but Jay hasn't been out in public willingly for a long time. Tim doesn't want to spoil his fun.

He can't leave the dressing room with wet eyes. He sniffs and wipes his face with the back of his hand. He struggles again pulling off the pants and throws them on the bench.

Tim picks up a plaid shirt and looks at the tag. He looks at himself in the mirror - all rolls of skin hanging from his arms, gut sticking out in front of him, double chin under his beard - and wants to curl up and die.

Shopping is so goddamn hard when there's nothing that fits him, when all the clothes marketed towards him are ugly and plain, when his boyfriend can fit into anything and he can't even fit the extra large.


	12. 5/21/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to say more about this but im too tired to write upsetting ultra-personal stuff. i got to sort out my own shit before i can write this kind of stuff. WARNINGS FOR IMPLIED CSA!!!!

Alex doesn't remember his childhood. He didn't see The Thing, It, as a kid - did he? Fuck, he doesn't know, he doesn't know what it was like to be seven years old and happy. He doesn't remember being a kid. Even in college, when he had a clear head, he couldn't remember his first day of fourth grade or his best friend's birthday party at the water park, he doesn't remember what his favorite candy was or his favorite movie he begged to stay up late to watch - maybe he never had it. Maybe he's been unhappy and rotten all his fucking awful life.

Is that normal? Aren't people supposed to remember growing up?

He's awful. That must be why.

Amy and he are moving out in a couple of days. His life doesn't depend on being nice to anyone but he wants, holy shit, he wants so bad just to say anything to Tim and Jay without feeling like he's hurting them just by existing.

He doesn't remember being happy.

The memories sit in his stomach like vomit he can't regurgitate - when he was a kid. He can't say it, even in his head. But he has to, or he's going to feel that lump in his body until he dies. When he was a kid. He was.

He can't. He can't even think it. He squeezes his eyes tight and thinks about bashing his head against the wall to make the memories go away.


	13. 5/22/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who ever though id be projecting onto alex kralie of all characters lmao. WARNINGS FOR CSA!!
> 
> its not easy or clean, dealing with trauma.

It finally comes out of Alex when Amy's already in the car and Tim and Jay follow him out to the garage. They're arguing about something pointless, but he feels like the weight's gotten to be too much, the Big Dirty Secret of his life eager to swallow him up and everyone who knows him.

"You try spending your whole fucking childhood being molested," he says to hurt Tim, and Jay, and maybe Amy. Most of all, himself.

First he sees the shock in their eyes, quickly followed by pity. He hates them. He hates them for feeling sorry, hates them for not knowing. How could they NOT know how filthy he feels? How could they not sense how fucked up he is just by being in the same room as him?

Their eyes are brimming with sympathy. He gets the sudden urge to stab his eyes out.

Alex walks right past the car and storms down the street.


	14. 5/23/2015

maelstrom in every inch of his fucked up head

does she even have a name anymore besides Terrified and Scared and Helpless and Lashing out

take care of the people who you love and who love you

he needs some respect for himself but it's ok if he can't find it yet, be gentle, be harsh

she needs some alone time, she doesn't have to exist for other people but she feels like the only reason she's alive is because she owes it to be there for them while they're wiping up their vomit from the bathroom floor, but but But when will she find the time to

flush the toilet but she

just wants to take a shower and be clean

goodnight


	15. 5/25/2015

Jessica wants to be more in touch with the sea. She feels so much fire in her bones. She wants the cold fingers of the ocean, the ebbing vibration of the waves, the tossing and turning she relates so heavily to. 

But when Alex turns up on her doorstep, fiery rage, matchstick sickness, she lets him in. Some ungodly godliness in him, thrashing about on her couch. Some holy sin in her, telling him it will be alright even though she doesn't know what the hell is going on.

He ran and he ran and he ran and he still didn't escape the wildfire. It always burns and burns and burns. Eats. Consumes.

Alex is the wolf on fire, setting everything he comes in contact with aflame, and Jessica is the lamb with knives for teeth and bones.


	16. 5/26/2015

The theatre vibrates with the booming opening credits. The music empties itself onto the emptier seats and then the director's name appears right under the title, loud and arrogant and out there for everyone to see. Everything Alex wanted to be.

He stands in front of the rail he and Jay put their feet on and hung their bike helmets on when they rode all the way to the town over, with the bigger screen and better (more expensive) popcorn, to see E.T. for the first time. His hands grip the cold metal, and he doesn't turn to look at Jay when he walks over to his estranged friend.

Jay steps carelessly through the swarm of hornets surrounding Alex. They pass through him like angry ghosts but he still feels their sting and hears their wild buzzing. It reminds him of the cameras he used to keep on him at all times. The theatre buzzes - honeycomb, hivemind - and he tries to reach out to Alex.

"You have weird dreams," Alex says.

Jay shrugs. "Yeah, I know. I'm used to it. At least you're not on fire in this one."


	17. 5/29/15

watered down soda and soggy waffles for dinner. dirty sweaty blankets but a sweet honeycomb to cuddle, a deer-faced soft-toothed frightened-mouthed pine cone of a man on the forest floor he can breathe, in out in out in out, breathe clearly and finely with. rake his fingers through his freshly showered hair. smells like shampoo. smells like sleepy kisses and a frightened-mouth seeking comfort in his collarbone. home is in that mouth. safety in those eyes. love in those dimples and scars.

but in tim's nightmares, jay is tearing him apart. it was the same with brian in college. someone giving themselves to him, in vulnerable spaces where he can't deny they care for him, about him, in lovely heart-shaped fast-beating veins, and his brain decides he must be punished for it. must suffer for feeling like he might deserve this, might belong in those spaces.

liar liar liar

some things he knows he won't outgrow, like an old itch on his skull where horns should be spearing through


	18. 5/30/2015

13 year olds riding bicycles on halloween night, telling ghost stories in hushed voices, passing by the bush where tim was crouching. that was when They decided - They want to talk too.

there is nothing sweeter than the swell of blood from a cut lip.

"i know you're not exactly tim right now." jay stands in the doorway. he shivers because the bathroom is cold, Their eyes are cold, and They roll the ice cube over in Their Mouth. They love the pleasant stinging burn of cold. jay does not fully understand, but he loves Them too.

"but i know you can hear me, so i want to say...i'm going to go look for alex again, i won't be back for a while, probably, don't worry about me or call the cops and...yeah, all that. i'll be safe, i promise you." he lifts up the heavy flashlight in his hands. he shows Them the switchblade in his pocket. "i hate to bring this," he mumbles, "but...i mean, ever since...i just have to be sure we can both come back, you know?"

They know.


	19. 6/3/2015

there are times (not days or nights, i don't know what that means or why it matters) where i am afraid

that you want me gone because i can't be as normal as you

my normal is howling, screaming, shrieking, overgrown fields empty roads abandoned gas stations the smell of rot and wildfires the sticky wetness of mud clinging to the bottoms of your jeans wearing a mask because eyes are the windows to the soul and i don't want my house to be broken into, talking with my hands, don't you get it

we can't understand each other, that's fine, but you can understand

i can't do what you can do, and you can't do what i can do

there are times where i am afraid i am jealous of you, and you are jealous of me

you want to run through the woods and bite the sunrise in half with only your teeth

i want to have a name and a face

there are times when you are in my skin, and i am in yours


	20. 6/10/15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ive been busy. i havent been this happy for so long in...like, ever. been writing more original stuff in my free time. but i havent forgotten about keeping up with this.

The sky is a wall of eyes and grey flesh when Alex stumbles through the briar, tearing his jeans on the thorns and almost tripping into the muddy ground. The sky is a wall of branches, thick like a mouthful of spit and watchful like a lump in his throat when he can't tell if he has a face of his own anymore. The sky is above him, more than him. Something he cannot touch but it can touch him.

He coughs. Impure. He doesn't want to feel the forest on his skin anymore. He coughs he coughs.

empty my head, fill it with brine

drill into my skull and leave your filth behind

all the time im thinking about how i want to die

like a layer of fat on creamy milk, like an orange peel, like the rubber on tires burning out

surface impurities

Today there is no softness for him. The early morning is strangling him, baring their blue-ish teeth at his neck. He is tenderized, pulverized, hung to dry in the open air like a piece of meat. Today no one loves him and he loves no one.

He wants soap for his birthday.


	21. 6/11/2015

amy was always the girl who played with fire.

in the orange glow of the afternoon, he is leviathan, the unwanted, the unloved, the undulating. she watches the minutes pass by. now the afternoon is a dead half-hour and the moon didn't bother to show up tonight.

the aftertaste of good thoughts and well-wishes tastes like the gum in her mouth. turning sour in the thick dry summer heat. fermenting under her tongue. mistakes up to her neck that she didn't even make herself. he spits on the ground and forgets to call her for a month.

she discovers something good and powerful in herself. it is a chant, a mantra of "he is not good for me, he is not good for me, i am good for myself."

so she moves on, and he digs his grave deeper.

sometimes when people are hurting, they hurt you.


	22. 6/12/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> today was my last day of school. im gonna be a senior next year. what the f

_I broke free on a Saturday morning_  
_I put the pedal to the floor_  
_Headed north on Mills Avenue_  
_And listened to the engine roar_

_My broken house behind me and good things ahead_  
_A girl named Cathy wants a little of my time_  
_Six cylinders underneath the hood crashing and kicking_  
_Ah, listen to the engine whine_

the Ark is made of things, people, ideas constantly dying and being reborn. clay molded again and again. reformed, reclaimed. teapot, sculpture, mug. things coming out of animal mouths, exposed nerve ends in their dagger teeth. sometimes the things get stuck to their gums and sometimes they jump back down their throats. the Ark grows, extends, shrinks. bubble wrap and blood stains.

can you feel it? the Ark, beating.

God is a young black boy dancing on the power lines with the birds. God is an old white woman with arthritis in Her hands and creaky joints and She sings every morning with the sun in Her mouth. God is a group of teenage mexican girls going to the movies, i can hear Her shoes on the sidewalk and Her whispered inside jokes.

it's summer vacation and some kids that just graduated come roaring down the street, and even though the noise gives tim a headache, he smiles for them

_I am going to make it through this year  
If it kills me_

_This Year_ by the Mountain Goats


	23. 7/1/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lmao havent updated this in forever, yikes!
> 
> mh brian is a nurse like irl brian because they already share names, why not careers

"I'm gonna kick his ass." Tim slams the front door behind him and collapses on the couch, fuming. He's so angry his hands shake when he runs it through his hair. "I'm gonna find out where he lives, and I'll fight him in front of his wife and kids. I'll fight him in front of God herself. I'll fight him - I'll fight him in the fucking desert. Anywhere, anytime."

Used to Tim having bad days at work, Jay's already getting up to make him a cup of coffee. He throws over his shoulder as he heads into the kitchen, "You can't kill your co-workers, Tim."

Amy, who jokes that she's extended her stay because Rocky couldn't bear to be away from Jay and his tendency to spoil animals, while they quietly endure the absence of Alex at the dinner table, asks nonchalantly, "Is it the manager this time or the bald guy who works in pharmacy?"

Tim picks up his mug of cold coffee from the morning and chugs the rest down. "Both! I consider the pros and cons of manslaughter whenever either of them opens their homophobic mouths." He picks at his fingernails, turning his hands over like he's imagining them around his manager's throat. "I can't stand them! And they can't stand me!"

Jay comes back with a hot - not steaming hot, since he knows Tim will burn his mouth without thinking - cup of fresh coffee. Tim thanks him and takes a sip, smacking his lips, brows furrowed. Jay tries not to laugh since he knows Tim will think he's making fun of him, but he just looks so cute when he's grumpy. He says, "Maybe I shouldn't call you at work anymore. That's how they found out about me, right?"

"No, Jay, God, you're the only reason I can make it to break-time." Tim cracks his fingers and takes a slam of his coffee. "Fucking Southern republicans, all riled up because they're terrified of the gay agenda. Gay people can marry? What's next, they can't wave around their racist fucking Confederate flags?"

The phone starts to ring, and Tim grimaces. Loud noises, perfect for a headache and anxiety.

Amy picks it up. "Hello? ....Hey, Tim, it's Brian!"

Tim perks up. "Brian? How's he doing?"

"Yeah, he says he's calling 'cause - oh my god. Oh....shit, really? Jesus, are you serious? ...Yeah, yeah, I'll get Tim."

Amy hands the phone over to him; Tim can hear someone crying on Brian's side. "Brian, what's going on?"

"I just got home from my shift, and, Tim, you won't believe who was here, just on my doorstep -" Brian rarely sounds this serious. Must be something really bad. "Alex is here."

Tim can feel his stomach drop. He sits up so quickly his vision goes fuzzy. "Alex? Is he ok? Is he alright?"

"I got him bandaged up but he's looking pretty sickly. He told me not to call you but then he started crying out for Amy, and I didn't know what to do, I didn't wanna upset him but he's - I knew he ran away from you guys and you've been looking for him and I - I'm sorry, I should have called as soon as I saw him, I'm sorry, I - God, he just looks so terrible, like he hasn't eaten in days - "

Tim was on his feet and heading back out to his car as soon as he said Alex's name. "You've got nothing to apologize for."

Brian makes a hiccup-laugh. "Tell that to Alex. He's been apologizing to me ever since I found him."


	24. 7/3/2015

one. they're in the living room. smells like dog piss, rocky lifted his leg on one of the couch cushions and febreze couldn't cover the stench up. alex is standing facing the tv and tim has his back to the wall.

"nice day out," alex says.

"yeah." it's three in the afternoon, sunny, clear skies. kids playing outside, their parents laughing on the porch. the sunburn on tim's neck is starting to peel. he took rocky out for a walk, forgot sunscreen. simple mistake. "summer's going easy on us so far."

two. the dark water is up to his ankles and with every step he takes, he hears a wet crunch. can't tell if he's in the woods, in a cave, in the void. there's a light bulb hanging from a wire, dangling from a ceiling he can't see. but they're outside, not in a house. alex is standing at the treeline and tim has his back to the monster.

they're here, in the flickering glow of a dying light bulb, and there, in a small suburban house next to the railroad, and they aren't anywhere.

"why did you go to brian's?"

"wanted answers," is alex's response.

"answer's to what?"

one. jay passes by on his way to the bathroom. he throws a worried look at alex and a tiny smile at tim.

"what're you guys watching?"

two. the ground is shifting. bones creaking, snapping.

"you think jay would ever stop searching?" alex tries to be ugly, goes for the weak spot in the thick briar and gnarled roots. "what, did you expect him to settle down with you, live out your days like a normal couple? you can never be normal. HE can never be normal. he can only get better at hiding. he can never stop searching for answers, not now. not even a near death experience can stop him. or them."

the skull is buried under the dirt, maggots in empty eye sockets, long-decayed flesh dried to the surface. blackened flesh, like it was burned. smiling at tim, like it knows he was made in the fire with them.

"you have your burden still and you thought brian didn't have his brother anymore. now it's mine." alex pulls the hood down over his face. "i want answers."

one. "nothing interesting." alex clicks some buttons on the remote, stares with tired bored eyes at the tv screen. "just flipping between channels, i guess."


	25. 7/23/2015

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings for implications of self harm.

"fuck you," alex spits in her face.

"listen, it's just -" amy stumbles in her words. she was never one to stutter but something breaks in you the first time you hear someone you love tell you they want to die. "we can't trust you with anything sharp after you -"

"get the fuck away from me," alex says, harder.

amy isn't close to him but she backs away, out the door. jay watches from the hallway with those big round pitiful blue eyes - alex turn his back to amy, curl into a defensive ball, dig his nails into his wrists.

alex breathes raggedly and his thoughts spin, he feels like is a cornered animal, he feels like a goddamn spectacle for people who are too terrified of him to lie to his face. isn't it true they want him dead? he knows he knows he KNOWS and he wishes he had let his fingernails grow out so he could break the skin.

amy takes the scissors with her and leaves. breathes like her lungs are dying on her. her lungs are flowers, wilting, she needs more sunlight to breathe.


End file.
